The Titan, Book 2: Blueprints for Perfection
by For the Kingdom
Summary: Only a few short months ago, DeFoe escaped the Organization and the Professor's twisted operation was undone. Now the Huntik Foundation has returned his first titan, Kreutalk, but Kreutalk isn't responding to him. Is DeFoe just out of practice, or is something deeper going on? Meanwhile, the Professor takes his revenge.
1. Prologue

A/N: I just realized that I was calling Lok Lambert, Lor. Heh, Freudian slip. Sorry. I meant Lok. Thank you, Cuerebel, for pointing that out. :)

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_The Titan, Book Two: Blueprints for Perfection_

Prologue

After three months, DeFoe was finally beginning to find his place in the Huntik Foundation. And it was about time. Thanks to Dr. Reese, the Professor's amulets had been removed and DeFoe had been thoroughly patched up. For a while, he wondered if he would ever make any progress in his new home, but when Guggenheim returned his first amulet, it provided a little assurance that he would eventually find equilibrium.

Today was his first time summoning Kreutalk since the Foundation had stolen DeFoe's amulets. Guggenheim and Dante Vale had accompanied him to the wide, empty gym. They stood twenty or so feet away, watching, waiting for DeFoe to summon his titan.

"Emerge, Kreutalk!" Defoe held the amulet above his head, but no titan emerged. The amulet didn't even glow. DeFoe lowered it for inspection.

"You didn't do anything to it, did you, Guggenheim?" he asked.

Guggenheim shook his head, looking just as confused. "I swear on my life," he replied. "I would never harm a titan."

"Not even one that belongs to you," Dante added. Guggenheim gave Vale a look.

DeFoe turned his attention to his rival. "I wouldn't put it past you to tamper with it."

"That hurts, DeFoe," Dante said with a hand on his chest. "That really hurts. What kind of agent would do something like that? If Guggenheim wanted to keep you from using your amulets, he wouldn't have returned them."

"You have a point," DeFoe muttered, returning his attention to Kreutalk's amulet, though he couldn't shake his suspicion of foul play. The amulet still remained unresponsive. But it was more than that. It felt empty: not dead, but as if nothing had ever lived there. As though it were nothing but a piece of jewelry.

"Do you notice something, DeFoe?" Guggenheim asked, walking towards him.

DeFoe adjusted his glasses and turned the amulet over in his hands. "I can't feel Kreutalk's presence," he replied, though he sounded uncertain. "Might he could have left…somehow? Traveled away to take up residence in something else?"

"Maybe you absorbed him?" Dante teased, raising his eyebrows.

DeFoe and Guggenheim frowned.

"What?" Dante asked, still smiling. "Too soon?"

"Too soon," Guggenheim replied.

"Completely unprofessional, you twit," Defoe added.

"Fine, fine," Dante said, his hands up in surrender. "In all seriousness, DeFoe, you know titans can't be transferred, and they especially never transfer themselves. Maybe if you broke an amulet, somehow protected the titan inside, and created another amulet, summoning it, like new, to that one…maybe it could change amulets. But, as you can see, Kreutalk's amulet is in tact."

"And I can feel Kreutalk's energy field from way over here," said Lok. Everyone turned and saw him and Sophie enter from the far door. "Maybe you're just not summoning him correctly."

DeFoe coughed a laugh. "Right. Thank you, Lok, for your wisdom. Clearly, you know more about titans than I do. You've been at this, what? Six months? I've been a seeker for ten years. Do you hear me? Ten years! So don't presume to tell me I'm summoning Kreutalk wrong."

"All I'm saying," Lok continued, "is that if the Professor did to me what he did to you, my summoning abilities would be messed up, too."

"My abilities are not messed up," DeFoe said, covering the amulet in his hands. "I practically invented the technique, and no amount of… ehem… anything… could make me forget how to use it."

"Technique is only part of it," Sophie added. "There's a lot of will involved."

"I know that, little girl."

Sophie scowled. "You're not great at making friends, are you?"

"Are you insinuating that I don't have the will to summon my oldest titan?" DeFoe barreled on. "That I'm weak? Afraid?"

Sophie didn't answer. DeFoe looked wildly around, but the other three were silent.

Then Guggenheim spoke up. "There is no shame in having to back track after a traumatic experience."

"I am fine, sir. Better than fine, actually."

"As much as I'd like to believe that, the fact remains that you were unable to summon your titan," Guggenheim continued gently. He paused to look at DeFoe. DeFoe carefully opened his hands and peered at his precious amulet. "So either you have some…uh…techniques to relearn, or we must consider the possibility that, for whatever reason, Kreutalk no longer answers to you."


	2. Far Worse

A/N: Thank you for your reviews! I am glad people seem to be enjoying this. :) Well, as some of you have strongly requested, here is the next chapter for your reading pleasure.

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**Blueprints for Perfection**

_Chapter One: Far Worse_

"What do you mean Kreutalk isn't answering to me?" DeFoe demanded. "Kreutalk is my oldest and most loyal titan. He has been with me from the very beginning, while I was still in training. And never, not even that first day as his master, have I ever, EVER had trouble summoning him."

"We are just saying what we see," Dante reasoned, walking towards DeFoe. "As easy as you make it, we're not making fun of you, or trying to trick you."

DeFoe stepped back in disgust. "Don't get near me," he hissed. "For all I know, you might be the one confusing Kreutalk. Maybe your arrogance has damaged him."

Dante smirked. "Somehow, I don't think that's the problem. I think he's used to—"

"Don't finish that, Dante," Guggenheim warned.

"No," DeFoe scowled. "I want to hear what he has to say. Used to what?" he raised his eyebrows and cupped his ear to hear Dante's words better, in mock wonder. "Hm? What is he used to?"

"Dante—"

"Arrogance," Dante finished, steaming. "He's been around you for, what? Fifty years?"

"Ten!"

"The problem might be that he's not used to being around so many other emotions."

DeFoe understood exactly what Dante was saying. Well, DeFoe would remind this embodiment of insolence who he was dealing with. Ever since he had joined the Huntik Foundation, he had been treated like an apprentice, or a private. A second-rate citizen, an intern hoping to catch some of the glory that falls from the shoulders of the god-like Guggenheim and Dante. He put up with it because Dr. Reese had told him he should, but DeFoe had his limits.

"You obviously have some unresolved questions," DeFoe said coolly.

"I do," said Dante. Then he smiled. "But not about you. I can learn all I need to about you just by watching you."

"You don't know anything about me!" DeFoe took a fighting stance, his fists up, just as he had been taught, both protecting his face and easy to use.

"Dante, DeFoe," said Guggenheim. As he spoke, Sophie and Lok rushed into the center of the gym and stood between DeFoe and Dante. "Lok and Sophie, what are you doing?"

"If he wants a fight, we'll give it to him," Lok said, eyes and fists trained on DeFoe.

"Show me what you've got," DeFoe said, thinking up a spell to use. Poison Fang sounded good. "Poison Fang!"

Guggenheim pushed through Lok and the others and grabbed DeFoe by his outstretched wrist. The poison was disrupted and went off course, making an unimpressive little mark in the floor. Guggenheim dragged DeFoe through the three agents and toward the exit.

"Come walk with me," was all he said. The door shut behind them.

DeFoe glanced back at the gym several times and pulled at Guggenheim's grip. "They were asking for it!" he snarled. "They were going to fight me! What does that say about the great Huntik Foundation?"

Guggenheim was silent and steadily pulled DeFoe down the hallway.

"You said I would be accepted here. You said I'd be protected." He motioned back at the gym with his free hand. "But they were going to attack me! Can you protect me from them? And it's not just them! Everyone here is on guard around me. If I make any sudden movement, they start grabbing for their amulets. I can't take it anymore! I wonder if I'd be better off on my own."

Guggenheim remained silent. They passed a few agents.

DeFoe motioned toward them once they had passed. "See? Did you see those stares? No one trusts me here. You said this is a place of trust! Well, you know what I think? I think this is just like the Organization. I think the only trust is among small groups of friends, like Dante and his team. None of the teams trust each other. And I don't have a team at all, so where does that put me? That means no one trusts me. No one at all. And if they don't trust me, I can't trust them. That makes perfect sense, doesn't it? At least suits feared me in the Organization. They wouldn't dare attack me."

Guggenheim dragged DeFoe into the courtyard. Most of the damage done by the suits and titans had been fixed. Guggenheim didn't let go of DeFoe's wrist until they were in the middle of the courtyard. DeFoe could almost still see the battle around him, the Professor before him. He looked at the ground and saw the stain where the janitor could not get Austin's blood out of the stones.

DeFoe shook and he thought he could feel his spine moving. He turned on his heel and started back inside. Guggenheim caught his wrist, and DeFoe stopped. Wind rustled the olive leaves overhead. The stain was dappled in dancing shadows.

"The Organization did something far worse than attack you," Guggenheim said softly. "And you know how much worse it was. Otherwise, this place wouldn't hold so many ghosts for you."

"Thanks for bringing them up, again," DeFoe replied, though his sarcasm was lost in his shaking voice.

"DeFoe," Guggenheim began, "the Foundation does want to help you. But the Huntik agents are human, and they need to learn to treat you right. I'll talk to them again, but give them time. If you stop picking fights, they will grow to trust you even faster."

"And this problem with my summoning?" DeFoe inquired.

"That will take time, and most likely, you won't be able to summon anything until your mind heals from its trauma."

"It isn't trauma," DeFoe said. "The Professor did something to me that is blocking me."

"That is true, in a way. But you'll move past it, eventually. Don't worry." Guggenheim patted DeFoe on the shoulder. DeFoe's shoulders slumped.

"I'm going back inside," DeFoe said quietly. "Being out here isn't good for my health."


	3. Sandra

Blueprints for Perfection

Chapter Two: Sandra

Sandra lay on the floor of her room, staring up at the dark ceiling. This deep in the Organization's headquarters, it was impossible to tell time. All light and sound from the above world was cut off. There was no clock in her room and she wasn't allowed a watch or cellphone, not that she would be able to use them with her hands bound. The cellphone rule was for security purposes, in case she decided at some point to stop cooperating. The watch rule, however, had no reason she could think of, except to keep her isolated and disillusioned.

She got up as well as she could with her hands tied to her belt. She winced at the "healing" wound on her back. She staggered to her bed and eased onto it. She closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep.

How had DeFoe ever gotten out of this? It was no secret in the Organization that he was fairly incompetent. Grier was a much better leader. And yet, there he had been, in Huntik's courtyard, with people protecting him. It wasn't fair. Why wasn't anyone protecting her?

She heard the door to her cell unlock and open. It was the scientist assigned to care for her, the awful woman who had performed the surgery.

The doctor-of-sorts entered the room and switched on the ceiling light. The weak yellow bulb accentuated her sharp cheekbones and the ash-blonde hair pulled tightly into a bun on the top of her head. Just looking at it made Sandra's own hair hurt.

"Sit up," snapped the doctor as she shut the door with curt swiftness.

Sandra pulled herself up to a sitting position. By the time she was steady, the doctor had set her medical bag on the bed, set tools around, and put on gloves.

"Scoot forward."

Sandra obeyed. There was no point not to. They couldn't do anything worse to her. The doctor didn't dare risk untying her hands or ungagging her. The suit wondered, woefully, if she would ever be allowed to speak or move her hands again.

The doctor rolled the suit's tank top up off her back and made a little disgusted sound.

"This is terrible," the doctor said, in a voice that seemed more outraged than concerned. "Why is it doing this?"

Sandra cringed and made a sound through her gag when the doctor poked her wound. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

"I don't understand it! How many complications are there going to be?" she wrapped Sandra with new gauze and gathered up the old gauze. "I guess I won't be healing this until the infection's taken care of."

"Mmph?" the suit made a sound, inquiring what had gone wrong.

The doctor didn't answer but gathered up her things and took off her gloves. The gauze she threw in the trash bin by the door was discolored and soggy. The doctor left without another word.

Sandra lay back down and tried to ignore the new pain in her back. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Something clenched and she suddenly found herself on the floor on the other side of the room. Breathing hurt and so did her chest. The numbness in her arm slowly receded. She lay, staring up at the light the doctor had left on, wondering if getting back into bed was worth the effort.

...

DeFoe wandered down the hallway. He wasn't going in any particular direction, except away from the courtyard. He didn't understand why Guggenheim would take him out there again. If it was to prove a point, he could have done that just fine inside. It was true, then, that Huntik agents were cruel. They were cruel in a way that was both different and worse than the Organization. They seemed to make DeFoe suffer for no other reason than their own enjoyment.

He spotted Austin walking towards him. The x-suit looked up and raised a hand in greeting. DeFoe nodded in recognition, then put his head down, meaning to pass him quietly.

"Hi, DeFoe," Austin greeted with a smile.

"Hi, Austin," DeFoe replied.

Austin stopped when they met. When he saw that DeFoe meant to continue walking, he changed directions to walk with him.

"Where are you off to?" asked Austin.

"I'm…" DeFoe blanked on places he could be going.

"I'm going to lunch," said Austin. "I would like to buy you lunch, if you haven't eaten yet. Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Eaten lunch yet."

DeFoe sighed. "No, no I haven't. But you don't have to buy me anything."

"I know," Austin replied. "But I want to. It will give you more incentive to eat with me."

"Why is that so important?" asked DeFoe

"Because you seem like you could use some non-Huntik company."

DeFoe looked ahead and his frown softened a little. "That doesn't sound so bad, actually."

Austin nodded triumphantly and they headed to the cafeteria. They ordered their food and then took it to a table by a window. DeFoe noticed that Austin had ordered vegetable soup and a piece of bread; there were plenty of larger, more satisfying meals on sale. Like the borsch and sauerkraut DeFoe got for himself.

When they sat down with their meals, Austin silently set to work blowing on his soup. The key word is, "silently." DeFoe pushed his sausage around the plate, glancing up at Austin every once in a while. Austin didn't show any indication of starting a conversation.

"Do you like vegetable soup?" asked DeFoe, to break the silence.

Austin shrugged. "I like it well enough," he said and then put a spoon of it into his mouth.

"Are you trying to save money?" asked DeFoe. When Austin looked confused, DeFoe clarified. "There are much better tasting things on the menu, yet you chose that."

"Oh," Austin said. "Old habit, I guess. You get into a routine, you know? The Organization was full of routine."

"Same here, it seems like."

"I don't know that an institution could function without routine," Austin commented, dipping his bread into his soup.

"I guess not," DeFoe answered, eating a sausage.

They chewed in silence. It was silence until DeFoe spoke again; this seemed to be a pattern that would persist.

"Aren't you going to talk to me about the event?" DeFoe asked.

"Which event?" asked Austin.

"Whichever you'd like," DeFoe snipped. "The big one, or the fact that I can't summon Kreutalk, it's your choice really."

"Why would I talk about that?" asked Austin before blowing on a spoon of soup.

"Because you asked me to lunch. Obviously, you're worried about me, or you wouldn't have. You're trying to comfort me."

"You're not wrong about that," said Austin calmly tearing his bread. "But I don't see what that has to do with talking about it." He ate a piece, then looked at DeFoe and swallowed. "Unless you think it would help."

"No, no, that's alright." DeFoe set his attention fully on mixing his food.

There was no talking the rest of the meal. DeFoe ate half his food, but then set down his fork and wiped his mouth on a napkin.

"I'm going to go back to training," DeFoe explained as he stood. "Thank you for the lunch."

"No problem," Austin said with a smile.

DeFoe scooped what was left of his lunch into the garbage and stacked his plate in the dish bin. He glanced back at Austin, who was still eating, and then left for the gym.

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A/N: I was going to cut this off at Sandra's scene, but then it was too short. I was concerned that the DeFoe and Austin scene would be derpy tacked onto the end of a chapter, but I really like how it turned out. Austin is an enigma, and I am enjoying chiseling him out of his rock.

Why did I choose to write about DeFoe? I wrote about him because he fascinates me, and the series' treatment left too much untapped. He's cowardly, festering with jealousy for Dante, distrustful of everyone, and has lied to himself for so long, that he's forgotten he's lying. Because he doesn't trust anyone (not even the Organization), he is terrified of being betrayed, which is the motivation (I think) behind his reckless grasping for power. I love writing about messed up characters, especially characters that have messed themselves up so much they seem beyond recovery. There is so much here to develop. At least, that's what I saw in him. Granted, I might be making most of this up. ;)


	4. Training

Blueprints for Perfection

Chapter Three: Training

"Move, you piece of junk!" DeFoe shook the amulet.

He had tried to summon Kreutalk more times than he could count. If it weren't for the sun setting outside the window, he would not have realized how long he had been trying and failing. Because he could see the sun setting, however, he was acutely aware of how much time he was wasting. There had been two or three other agents in the gym when he went there after lunch, but because of the way in which he trained, which involved lots of throwing things and sometimes kicking, he was alone. Alone with his unresponsive, unhelpful, unsympathetic titan.

DeFoe threw Kreutalk's amulet again. He stomped around for a while, then went to pick it up again. DeFoe closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. Focus, he thought. Block everything out except Kreutalk.

"Emerge, Kreutalk," he spoke.

Nothing.

He pressed the amulet against his cheek and petted it.

"Come forth, Kreutalk," he whispered. "Please."

Nothing.

DeFoe's grip tightened around the amulet until his fist was shaking in rage.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrryah!" He lobbed the amulet at the far wall where it fell to the ground before it impacted. The single clang as a small sound, but it had the same effect a word does, whispered in such a way that you know no other words will dare to come after it. But DeFoe wasn't one to honor such sanctified, and admittedly obscure, metaphysical meaning.

"Kreutalk, you traitor! Traitor! Obey me, or I'll hate you as long as I live!" He pushed over a training dummy for emphasis. Even so, Kreutalk seemed unplussed by DeFoe's tantrum. Didn't that ungrateful fish-thing have any sense of duty? The way Kreutalk was acting, DeFoe would have thought he had rejected him.

What if Kreutalk _had_ rejected him? Did that happen? DeFoe couldn't remember. He had read a lot of case studies, of course, lots of history (okay, skimmed); did titans ever leave their masters of their own will?

Impossible.

If they did, many of the Professor's titans would have left. And DeFoe didn't hear anything about that.

Then again, he had never heard much about anything. Maybe Kreutalk _had_ left him. Maybe Kreutalk no longer saw DeFoe as his master. Maybe he refused to bond. (No, they didn't bond. That is, not really. Something about a soul and one will, but no actual combining, sautered sort of way.)

DeFoe pointed suspiciously at the little amulet across the room. "Kreutalk! I'm talking to you, and I know you can hear me. Come out of that amulet right now! I command you! I am your master, and you are my titan! You must obey me!"

Kreutalk didn't seem to agree. So DeFoe kicked the wall. And a chair. "I control you! I CONTROL you! I am summoning you!" DeFoe stomped towards the amulet. "Emerge, or I will take a pocket knife and pry the face off of your amulet. You wouldn't like that, would you? WOULD YOU? Then you wouldn't have any home to return to, and you'd have to stay summoned all the time—"

"He could just move into one of your ribs or something."

DeFoe whipped around and – surprise, surprise – there stood Dante with that cocky grin of his. DeFoe lunged at him with a ferocity that surprised Dante and forced him to step back.

"It was just a joke, DeFoe." He put his palms up and shrugged.

"Augerfrost!"

Dante rolled out of the way. The bolt made a mark in the doors to the gymnasium.

"_That_ was just a joke," DeFoe growled, veins popping. "And so is this—poison fang!"

Dante continued dodging. "I'm sorry, okay? I thought you could take it."

"You think you can say whatever you want to," DeFoe said, going straight at Dante with his fists. "And I'm supposed to swallow it because I'm _so_ thankful to the Foundation for saving me. I said I wouldn't be your prisoner, and I won't be your lapdog!"

Dante blocked a punch, caught DeFoe in the shoulder, and shoved him into the floor. He hadn't meant to do anything besides stopping the onslaught, but he ended up breaking DeFoe's glasses on the floor and cutting the bridge of his nose in the process. Dante let go of DeFoe's shoulder and sat on the floor. DeFoe pushed himself up fully to his feet. He took off his glasses, scowling at them in silence, not even noticing the blood slowly snaking down the interesting geography that was his nose.

"I'm sorry," Dante said. "I didn't mean for that to get out of hand."

"Of course you didn't," sneered DeFoe as he started for the door. "I am sick of arguing with you—ahh!" Something cracked in DeFoe's back and fire shot through his spine. He bent over to relieve the pain, but his knees buckled from the shock, and he fell to the floor.

Dante rushed to him, their fight completely forgotten. "Are you alright?" he asked anxiously.

"Does it look like I'm alright?" DeFoe growled between clenched teeth. "I told you the Professor cursed me!"

"We need to get you to the sickbay. Can you stand?"

Even thinking about standing sent a new wave of pain. Dante withdrew his question. He took his cellphone out of his back pocket and put it to his ear.

"Guggenheim? DeFoe just collapsed in the gym and we could use a stretcher."

"Right away, Dante," replied Guggenheim on the other end.

"Maybe now you'll take my warnings seriously," DeFoe gritted his teeth, squeezing his knees.

"Don't push your luck," Dante said. "I'll get back at you when you're recovered."

The stretcher came in less than a minute since the hospital wing was at the same end of the facility as the gym: which made sense, since most injuries incurred on the Huntik Foundation premises would happen in the gym. Reese was among the doctors to come in.

"What happened?" asked Reese as he and the other doctors wheeled the patient back to the hospital wing.

"The Professor cursed me, is what happened," replied DeFoe with a hint of triumph at being right.

"I didn't ask how, I asked what. What hurts? Et cetera."

"I feel like if I move, I'll break in half," DeFoe moaned, cringing as the stretcher bumped over the ridge and into the elevator.

"Specifics, DeFoe!" Reese said, pushing the LL button.

"Alright!" DeFoe growled. "It's my back. My spine. Searing pain, like before, when… And…ugh, I don't feel well. I-I think I'm passing out."

"Stay awake, DeFoe. Just until we've gotten you into a stable condition. Just a few more minutes—"

DeFoe was fading fast. "This…is taking so much longer than normal." His breath was heavy. "Have I transformed yet?"

"You're not going to transform," Reese answered.

DeFoe exhaled and let his cheek rest on the stretcher. "Good."

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A/N:I have the next chapter outlined, and about a page written. It shouldn't be too long before it shows up here. At least, I'll do my best to make it so. Per usual, this chapter seemed longer in Word. Shoot.

Cuerebel - Yay! I'm glad he's your favorite character! He was my favorite from episode one, yet I quickly discovered that his fandom was made up of me and maybe one other person. And yeah, that trait of the show annoyed me as I got further into the show. I'm just a sucker for moral ambiguity. Also, I am of the opinion that all villains have some sort of sob backstory (even though it may be very subtle), otherwise what would turn them into villains?


	5. God

A/N: Thank you all for your patience. I had writer's block something fierce. Anyway, here's chapter four! I'm on summer break now, so I should be able to have chapter 5 up fairly soon.

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Blueprints for Perfection

Chapter Four: God

"Take this medicine, and I'll be back to check on you later," said Reese as he handed DeFoe a few pills.

DeFoe sat on his bed and stared at the pills. "Can't you just heal me?"

"I'm not certain what in you is broken," Reese said crossing the bedroom. "As far as I can tell, your back spasmed for no foreseeable reason and is sorting itself out. You have been stressed lately. Understandably so. This medicine will help you relax, which will relax the muscles in your back."

"Are you sure you're not just sick of looking after me?" DeFoe asked.

Reese smiled. "I am, but that isn't the point." He opened the door and then looked back. "That was a joke, DeFoe. Don't lose your head."

DeFoe laughed halfheartedly and twirled the pills in his hand. Just an ordinary spasm? No way was that ordinary. It was a curse or some sort of disease he had contracted from his encounters with the Professor and his titans. There was nothing natural about it. Pretty soon Reese would see that too.

"Are you going to take them?"

DeFoe looked up at Austin. He looked back down at the medicine and then put the pills into his mouth. He washed it down with the bottle of water by his bed. "I'll take them. Not that they'll help anything."

"If Dr. Reese thinks they'll help, I think they will," said Austin, checking his watch.

"Reese has been wrong before," DeFoe snapped. Not that he could think of when he had been wrong.

Austin purposefully didn't say anything. "Do you want to play cards?" he asked. "Guggenheim and the rest will be in a meeting for quite some time, yet."

"Pft. I'm glad to see my tragedy didn't cause too much of a stir."

"What do you want them to do, DeFoe? Carry you?"

DeFoe crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. Austin crossed his legs and sat on the floor. He began shuffling the cards. DeFoe sank to the floor and crossed his legs. Austin dealt two cards to DeFoe.

"Do you know how to play Black Jack?" Austin asked.

"Of course," DeFoe answered, looking at his cards. Austin looked at his own cards. "Hit me." Austin passed DeFoe another card. They didn't talk. They just played the game in the perfect silence of DeFoe's room.

In ten minutes, the air conditioner kicked on. DeFoe had never been good at Black Jack. He always pushed too hard and ended up with a number like 27. He was about to ask for another card, hoping for a two, when something crashed into the ceiling.

"What was that?" asked Austin, who was already standing.

"How should I know?" DeFoe asked, slowly getting to his feet.

"We should check it out," said Austin, heading for the door.

DeFoe followed behind him. "Or we could let Huntik handle it," he called after him. "That's what they're for, isn't it?"

"You forget that we are Huntik, as well," Austin replied without pausing his stride.

DeFoe stopped walking. "Only in the most general sense," he muttered. He let Austin hurry off, and stood by himself in the dark hallway.

Whatever had hit the roof worried DeFoe. The trees surrounding the Foundation were not tall enough to drop branches on the roof. The only thing DeFoe could think of that might have fallen in the storm is some shingles from one of the higher roofs onto a lower one. But an entire chimney would have had to fall to make a sound like that. More likely, in DeFoe's mind, was the heavy feet of an enemy titan, sent by the Professor to annihilate DeFoe. With this in mind, investigating the sound was the last thing DeFoe wanted to do.

DeFoe walked down the hallway, glancing around, trying not to imagine Rassimov and the Professor's eyes glinting from every shadowy corner. DeFoe jolted to a halt; up ahead was the figure of a man. The man turned and walked towards him.

It was Austin.

DeFoe sighed and tried to breathe away his pounding heart. Austin stood there as stern as ever; stood there in that dark and flashing hallway.

"Dr. Reese is on the roof. He wants me to meet him there," Austin said.

"What about me?" DeFoe asked.

Austin didn't think this was an offensive question. "I presume he wants you there, but did not think you would come."

"Why doesn't he think I'd come?" asked DeFoe.

"Because it's late, raining, and there is no benefit for you," Austin replied as a matter of fact.

"I—I don't _always_ need direct benefit to do tings," DeFoe protested unhappily. "Don't you remember that I saved you?"

"You and Dr. Reese saved me," Austin corrected.

"Yes…but I did that, too. To my great discomfort, I might add."

"I wasn't saying anything against you," Austin explained. "I am just stating the facts as I see them."

"Well they seem fairly subjective," DeFoe said.

Austin paused. "I need to go to the roof," he said. "Dr. Reese is waiting."

"Of course."

There was another pause.

"Do you want to come?" Austin asked.

DeFoe really didn't want to come actually, but he had made too big a deal out of it already. Declining was not an option, so he said yes. He jogged behind Austin as they made it to the stairs and then walked out onto the roof balcony.

DeFoe half expected to see Dracula soaring towards them from the distance; it was that sort of night. Dark, windy, cold, wet, flashing and loud. A Dracula-like figure was standing on the shingles on the edge of the roof. Austin climbed over the balcony and DeFoe knew it was Reese. The doctor's coat whipped in the hurricane winds, snapping around him like wet leather. Reese was on his knees, focused on a dark mass at his feet. DeFoe struggled over the balcony railing and inched towards Austin and the doctor. When he arrived and dropped to his knees for better support – so he wouldn't be blown off the roof – he saw the woman at Reese's feet.

DeFoe inched toward Reese and his patient. "What is it?" DeFoe called over the roar of the wind.

Reese glanced up. "Oh good, you're here." He reached for DeFoe's hand. DeFoe offered it, assuming Reese needed help standing back up; he was approaching seventy, after all. Reese grabbed DeFoe's hand and used it to yank him down.

"I need you to help deep heal this girl," said Dr. Reese as if DeFoe's compliance was a given. DeFoe didn't appreciate how much Reese thought he knew.

"If you haven't noticed, Dr. Reese, I am having trouble with—"

"—with your titans. Not your magic," snapped the doctor.

DeFoe bit his lip. He sighed. "Fine." DeFoe placed his hands on the shivering woman and spoke "Deep heal." His fingers glowed orange and the glow left and travelled into her skin, which there was lots of. Poor woman, DeFoe found himself thinking as he spoke another bout of deep heal.

Her hands were tangled up in her wet clothes…no, wait, they were actually tied to her belt. DeFoe's heart stopped for a moment and he sweat despite the freezing rain. He didn't know why he hadn't seen it before: the black slacks, the stiff white shirt, the straight black tie… this woman was an Organization suit.

"I think she's coming to."

DeFoe broke out of his ponderings for a moment and watched her face with Reese and Austin.

Her lips, blue from cold, parted and she breathed in more intentionally than before. She opened her eyes and the water on her eyelids dripped into them. She blinked and yanked at her hands.

"Poison fang," DeFoe commanded at the ropes. They disintegrated, but her hands didn't continue their path to her eyes. Instead, they fell flat against the shingles.

"We need to get her inside," Reese said as he looked around for the safest way down.

"Are you sure?" DeFoe asked. "Might she have spinal issues?"

"I can't tell in this weather," Reese replied. "If she does, I will be able to heal her once we are inside and I have my tools." He cradled her head in the crook of his arm and carefully held her under her arms.

"DeFoe, Austin, your help in carrying her, please."

Austin crouched immediately and grabbed her legs. The woman awoke again and looked around briefly as they lifted her up. Her eyes landed on DeFoe and she gasped.

DeFoe looked behind himself and then back at her. Why was she making such a face?

"It's you," she croaked. "You're DeFoe."

Reese and Austin looked at DeFoe. DeFoe stared back and shrugged.

"How do you know me?" DeFoe asked.

"We can talk as we walk," Reese said, starting the trek.

The weight in their arms disappeared and the men were sent wobbling backwards, falling to their knees and gripping shingles for balance. DeFoe looked around desperately, trying to find the suit. They must have dropped her in that gust of wind. But she was nowhere to be found.

Oh no. DeFoe crawled to the edge of the building, not looking forward to seeing her crushed on the pavement below. Fortunately, he didn't have to; she wasn't there, either.

"Where did she go?" he asked.

"I have no idea!" Reese said frantically. "Maybe she fell through the roof or opened a portal or—"

"Is that really a possibility?" Austin asked.

Reese looked hard at both of them. "I don't know," he admitted. "But what I do know is that she needs immediate medical attention and the longer we stand here talking about it, the less chance she has of surviving. Austin." Austin looked alert. "You are the most fit for climbing around on rooftops. You stay up here and look for her. I will look for her on the ground, and DeFoe, you look for her inside."

"There is no way she ended up inside!" DeFoe protested, trying to wipe the water out of his glasses with his fingers.

"It's possible," Reese insisted. "And besides: it isn't safe for you to stray too far from the safety of the building. Right now, the Organization could pluck you right out of the sky."

"Point taken," said DeFoe, and he picked his way back to the balcony.

DeFoe walked down the hallways, checking in rooms, somewhat halfheartedly. Reese was crazy. There was no way that woman had ended up inside the building. On the other hand, DeFoe didn't mind being out of the rain. He went down the stairs into the basement and turned on the lights.

DeFoe heard a thump in the closet beside him. He hesitated a moment, deciding whether it was worth the trouble to look. Eh, what did it hurt? He tried the knob, but it was locked.

"Poison fang," he whispered, as though he were afraid someone would hear.

The doorknob melted and DeFoe kicked open the door. Lying on the floor, underneath the mops and paint cans she had knocked over, was the woman from the roof. DeFoe hurried inside and dug her out.

She looked even worse than before. Her skin was pasty with unnatural sweat and she stared at DeFoe so steadily that she looked dead.

"I've found her," DeFoe said into his walkie-talkie. "I'm in the basement."

"DeFoe," the woman rasped. DeFoe glanced at her.

"I'm on my way," said Reese on the other end. "Tell her to hold on."

"I guess you heard that, so I don't need to repeat it," said DeFoe glancing around. The woman grabbed his arm. Startled, DeFoe yanked it away.

"I didn't think I'd make it here," she said.

"Yes, well, make it a little longer, alright?" DeFoe said. The woman grabbed for him again but he moved.

"Everyone in the Organization knows about you," she said.

DeFoe's heart stopped. "Are you a spy? Are you here to bring me back to the… to the Pr— to him? Tell me or I'll end you."

"The prisoners know you," she clarified. "And I suppose the suits, too. There isn't any hiding it anymore, especially in the way the experiments have continued."

"Experiments?" DeFoe croaked.

"He's trying to make more like you but he's failing. Most of us turn out like me." She winced and DeFoe noticed her breath had gotten heavy.

"Like you…" DeFoe said numbly.

"Failures. We're dying."

DeFoe pressed the walkie-talkie to his mouth. "She's dying, Reese! Get over here!"

"Well, do something about it! I'm coming as fast as I can," Reese replied, out of breath. He probably _was_ coming as fast as he could. The Foundation building was pretty large.

DeFoe swallowed but his mouth was dry. He didn't know what to do except deep heal. So he set the walkie-talkie on the floor and scooted closer.

"Your arm is injured," he mentioned.

"Is it?" the woman looked to her left. "So it is. That arm's been numb since last week."

DeFoe quickly healed the gash and then moved on to Deep Healing. The woman grabbed his hand and this time he didn't pull away.

"You have to help them. You're like a god to us. No one who can will stand up against the Professor, and those who are willing, can't. Get Huntik to attack. However you want to do it. Just don't let this go on."

DeFoe didn't know what to say.

"Can you do that?"

"I don't think—"

"Promise you'll do that."

"I'm really not in a position to—"

"Promise."

"I—"

"Promise!"

"Fine."

The woman sighed. "And one more thing."

"Yes?"

"My name is Sandra Sotka. Please don't forget me."

"Why—"

"Because everyone else has."

DeFoe hesitated. "Sorry about that," he said. "Just lie still and wait. Dr. Reese is on his way."

Sandra closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing as DeFoe continued to deep heal. "Okay."

But Sandra didn't wait. She was dead when Reese arrived; DeFoe looked near death as well.


	6. Talk of War

A/N: I really don't have anything important to say in this note. I just wanted to say "Hi." :)

* * *

Blueprints for Perfection

Chapter Five: Talk of War

The situation happened so quickly that those in the meeting didn't hear about it until it was too late. When DeFoe was sitting with Sandra, and while Austin was searching the roof, Reese called Guggenheim to inform him of their dilemma. The meeting was adjourned immediately, but it wasn't soon enough.

And what is there to do after something like this happens? Procedure is carried out, decisions are made, and then each person is left to himself to interpret it on his own. Fortunately for everyone, especially DeFoe, there was no time for reflection; the woman had been a suit, which meant Huntik as an association would need to decide how to act and whether that action included violence.

Guggenheim's office was full to bursting. He should have held this meeting in the gym, thought DeFoe as he stood on the outskirts of the crowd. He hadn't quite decided whether he should be part of this meeting or not. But the invitation seemed pretty open, since curious agents on other tasks kept stopping out of curiosity, asking someone other than DeFoe what was going on, and then elbowing their way into the office.

DeFoe couldn't even hear what was being discussed; not that he wanted to. But then, he did want to. But he didn't. He just knew that Guggenheim would make a decision that would make his position more dangerous. Up until now, the Professor seemed to be sleeping back at the Organization: still powerful, still malicious, but unprovoked. DeFoe just knew – he just knew – that this would remind the Professor of his revenge. DeFoe already imagined him around every corner; he didn't need any more stress. He clutched the blanket tighter around his shoulders; one of the doctors had given it to him to help ease his shock. He liked to imagine it helped.

He spotted Austin squeezing his way out of the office. Austin held up a hand in solemn greeting. DeFoe nodded though it looked more like a twitch.

"What are they saying in there?" DeFoe asked.

"They are deciding what it means that the suit—"

"Sandra."

Austin frowned in confusion.

"Her-her name was Sandra," DeFoe clarified, looking at the floor. "Sotka."

Austin nodded pensively, mulling over this information as he glanced up and down the hallway. "I proposed an infiltration mission," he added.

DeFoe swallowed at the idea. "Why?" His voice was tight.

"Because people are in trouble," Austin replied.

Perhaps DeFoe shouldn't have told Austin where she had come from and why.

DeFoe cleared his throat. "What-um-what did Guggenheim say?"

"I didn't stick around," Austin replied, looking back at the crowd. "They're discussing it now."

"Well, let's get in there," DeFoe said suddenly and loudly. He searched for an opening.

Austin smiled. "I'm glad you're taking an interest in this."

"Don't call it what it isn't," DeFoe snapped, trying to squeeze between two agents and the doorframe, dropping his blanket next to the wall. "I just want to make sure Guggenheim doesn't doom us all because of what you told him."

The muffled sound of Guggenheim's voice turned to words as DeFoe and Austin got closer. Guggenheim asked Dante, of all people, for his opinion.

"I think it would be foolish to attack the Organization outright," Dante said. "The suit didn't say much and what she did say was vague. We would be going in blind and without a clear idea of what we are even trying to accomplish."

Guggenheim hummed in agreement. "What about you, Zhalia? You were Organization once."

"I was," replied Zhalia in her curt way. "And I'm going to point out that the suits, if there are others being imprisoned as the suit said, brought it on themselves. They knew what the Organization was, and they chose to stay with it."

"Dear me, you talk big for someone from the Organization," DeFoe snapped, pushing finally to the front of the crowd. "You know as well as I that no one in the Organization really knows what's going on except the Professor. And it's almost impossible to get out."

Zhalia didn't appreciate his challenge. She approached him, her dark hair swinging tersely across her face. "If they wanted to, they would find a way. You and I did."

"Barely!"

"Even so." Zhalia turned back to Guggenheim. "My point stands that the Organization is only hurting its own people, and those people will find a way out eventually. Either that, or the Organization will collapse. Sad though it is, I see this as a good thing. This might be the end of the Organization."

"And how many people do you think should die to bring down the Organization?" demanded DeFoe.

"As many suits as it takes until they wake up," she replied. DeFoe scowled and clenched his fists. "Don't you dare paint me as the villain. _DeFoe_." She spat his name.

Sparks flew between their flinty eyes. The room was silent. Guggenheim cleared his throat. "Zhalia's comments might be too harsh," he said with strained joviality. "But she does have a point. This could be a good thing and if we go in there now, we might mess it up. I don't know what we should do in the long run, but for now, I think the best thing we can do is wait and keep a closer eye on them. Do some spying. Know what's going on so that, if our assistance is needed, we'll be able to respond. But I don't want any of you to die if you don't have to."

That's what DeFoe wanted, too. Somehow, he had ended up arguing for an attack on the Organization. He wasn't thinking straight. Could that be another symptom of the curse? If so, which part? The part of him that wanted to hide from the Professor, or the part that wanted to beat him to a pulp?

Probably the violent side. DeFoe wasn't a simpleton. He knew that there would be no beating involved if he ever challenged the Professor, except on his own head. He wasn't strong enough to stop the Professor; no one was. Not even Huntik. The last time they had a face-to-face with him ended in the Professor's haughty retreat. That really didn't count as a victory.

"DeFoe, you're making a strange face," said Dante, only half-teasing.

"This is just my normal face," DeFoe grumbled, too troubled to put the proper amount of venom in his words. "Do what you want," he said, pushing his way out of the room. "Just don't get me into trouble." He kicked the blanket out of the way.

Austin followed him out and down the hall. "So…you want to attack the Organization?"

"Is that a question or an offer?" DeFoe muttered without breaking stride.

"Both."

DeFoe breathed, thinking it over. This curse made it hard to think. "I'm…" his heart pounded and his stomach clenched. Adrenaline crawled through his bloodstream. "I… _Someone_ should do something."

Austin quickened his step and clapped DeFoe on the back. "That's what I've been thinking, but so far, no one had agreed with me. Not even Reese."

"That's not what—"

"Between the two of us, I think we could pull it off. You're the famous DeFoe, and I have strong titans—"

"That's not what I meant!"

Austin stopped walking, as did DeFoe. DeFoe sighed and turned around, but he didn't close the gap between them. "I… I don't want any part of this."

"But you just said—"

"Yes, I think something should be done. Be that as it may, we can't defeat the Professor. It would be futile to try, no matter how right it is. So… I want people to try, I want someone to stop the Professor, but I don't…I don't want to be part of it."

Austin was silent.

"Quit scowling," DeFoe hissed. "You know I'm right."

"No, I'm right. You're just scared."

"How dare you—"

"As you should be," Austin continued. "But that shouldn't matter. In my humble opinion."

"Your opinion is never humble."

Austin was seething. DeFoe hadn't seen Austin this angry since their last brush with the Professor. "If I'm alone and I'm taken, the mission would end there. All I need is someone to follow and be ready to call backup. I think Huntik would rescue us, even if we went in against Guggenheim's orders." He paused. "I am going, DeFoe, whether or not anyone comes with me, but for reasons I've just explained, I'd rather not go alone."

"That's your problem," DeFoe muttered, continuing down the hallway to his room. "because you _are_ on your own."


End file.
